


makeup drawer

by soldouthaz



Series: drabbles [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Famous Harry, Fluff, M/M, Makeup Artist Louis, Meet-Cute, No Smut, Non-Famous Louis, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldouthaz/pseuds/soldouthaz
Summary: harry’s excited and nervous about wearing makeup for the first time publicly. louis is his supportive makeup artist.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670983
Comments: 21
Kudos: 241





	makeup drawer

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [makeup drawer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317759) by [smthaboutlarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smthaboutlarry/pseuds/smthaboutlarry)
  * Translation into Русский available: [makeup drawer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317759) by [smthaboutlarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smthaboutlarry/pseuds/smthaboutlarry)



> i was debating actually posting this but it was stuck in my mind all day so here it is. i guess these drabbles are going to be a series now? enjoy!

Harry is no stranger to makeup. He’s experimented with it from a young age, stealing his mum’s lipstick and Gemma’s bright eyeshadow to swipe on in the privacy of his room. Over the years his few pieces have grown into a full collection underneath his bathroom sink. Organized by color, Harry’s got everything from mascara to blush to lip gloss. 

He is, however, a stranger to wearing makeup in  _ public _ . The thought used to petrify him, the idea of so many strangers seeing him so vulnerable, but he’s grown infinitely more comfortable with himself over the last few years and he feels like it’s a good time. 

Wearing makeup would be a lot more pleasurable if he actually knew how to do it, he figures. He’s collected tips over the years from various makeup artists and women he asks but everytime he tries to do it at home it always seems to turn out - not  _ good _ . Harry doesn’t like the color he chose or the mascara is too thick or clumpy. It’s always  _ something _ . 

So he’s hoping today he can ask some questions. This shoot specifically has his makeup as a focal point for the entire spread, so he’s anticipating more than just some light foundation and powder this time. He almost feels giddy when he thinks about getting a makeover. 

He’d shown up a few hours prior this morning to take a look at the outfits they’d chosen for him and to meet the photographer. Everyone seems lovely, as always, but Harry’s been looking around for the makeup artist with no luck. When they’d passed the vanity area, it’d been empty. 

With his hair already done and his legs drawn to his chest on a chair in the lounge, Harry scrolls through his phone aimlessly to pass the time until they arrive. His eyes scan each of the different tabs he’s got open for different looks, some glamorous and others natural. It may be a good thing they aren’t here quite yet, Harry thinks, because he’s got no idea what look he wants to do. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” a small body exclaims, crashing through the door and wheeling a professional-looking makeup case behind them. “I’m so sorry I’m late.” 

Waving him off, Harry stands and offers a hand. 

“It’s no problem. S’nice to meet you,” he smiles, “I’m Harry.” 

“I know - I mean, uhm, hi, I’m Louis,” he stutters, grasping Harry’s hand with his own warm fingers. 

Harry waits patiently for him to unpack all of his things, arranging them neatly on the desktop in front of the mirror. Louis seems to know what he’s doing, all of his supplies clean and new-looking as he handles them with nimble fingers. 

“You can take a seat,” he gestures lightly, still flushed and slightly out of breath. “Did you have any ideas for what you wanted to do?” 

“Not really, I looked online but nothing stood out. I was hoping maybe you had something in mind?” He asks, eyeing the curve of Louis’ shoulder as he scans over his collection. 

“You - you want  _ me _ to decide?” 

“I mean, you are the expert,” Harry teases. 

He’s trying to get him to loosen up a bit, still visibly tense. 

“Okay, I can do that,” Louis says, not really looking like he believes himself. 

He sets out the last of his things and shuts the case, pulling it off to the side. The way he moves is jerky, irritated, and Harry feels like he should ask. 

“I know we’ve only just met, but - are you alright?” 

Louis deflates at the question. “I’m okay, it’s just been kind of an awful morning. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Harry shakes his head, “what happened? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

Stepping to the side to wash his hands in the large sink, Louis sighs and begins to explain. His baggy tee shirt is one that Harry recognizes when he moves, thinks he has the same one hanging in his closet at home . 

“I just - this was a big day for me, obviously, and nothing has gone right so far. My roommate is sick so I’ve been up most nights this week with him. Last night I didn’t get to bed until around three and, as you can tell,” Louis glances pointedly at the clock on the wall, “it’s eight-thirty. I slept past my alarm and then when I got here the photographer yelled at me, so, that’s always fun.” 

“That does sound awful,” Harry agrees. 

“Yeah,” Louis dries his hands on a towel and comes back to the vanity, pulling several of the products forward so he can reach them easily. 

Harry knows what that feels like. There’ve been way too many times when he overslept and got reprimanded in front of hundreds of people, even earlier in the morning when he still wasn’t fully awake yet. It isn’t a particularly good feeling. 

In an effort to comfort him, Harry tries to relate. 

“Once I slept straight through an entire shoot. My phone was dead too so no one could call me. I didn’t wake up until late that afternoon and I had no idea. We had to reschedule; everyone involved made it very clear that I was wasting their time. I felt awful,” he concludes. 

Having stopped moving around to listen to his story, Louis just stares at him, frozen, a makeup brush clutched in one hand. 

“I’m sorry, I’m rambling. You probably don’t want to hear all of that.” 

“No, no, please keep talking. Your voice is - it’s soothing.” 

Clearing his throat and tearing his gaze away quickly, Louis grabs for a bottle of clear liquid and pours some onto a cotton pad. 

“Alright then,” Harry’s lips quirk upward, “Would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About makeup?” 

“Of course, ask away,” Louis smiles, leaning in to brush some hair out of his face with a dainty hand. 

Pursing his lips, Harry makes a mental list of things he wants to know. He wishes he would have made an actual list before he came, but he’ll just have to try and remember. 

“What’s that you’re putting on me right now?” 

“It’s some micellar water,” Louis tells him, holding up the bottle, “it cleans your skin and adds some moisture before we do the primer.” 

Already, Harry’s in over his head. He nods like he understands but he knows he doesn’t, has a feeling Louis probably does too. When Harry does his own makeup or gets it put on for events, the first step is always foundation. Then powder, occasionally eyebrows, and then he’s done. 

The cotton pad glides smoothly over his jaw and Harry watches it in the mirror. It does feel nice, refreshing, contrasting with the warm presence of Louis’ hand gently holding his hair back from his forehead. 

When he bends away to toss the pad into the bin, Harry runs a curious finger over his cheekbone, noting the smoothness. He raises a brow appreciatively. 

“Is that the primer?” Harry asks, a new tube in Louis’ palm. 

He puts some of the cream on the back of his hand and smiles at Harry’s question but doesn’t tease him about it. 

“Yeah,” Louis swipes it under his eyes and over his nose, on his chin and forehead. “It basically just protects your skin from anything else you put on it like foundation, concealer, all of that.” 

Harry nods. Every time he turns his head he can see the light glint off of the high points of his face. He finally understands why people always say ‘dewy’ in their makeup tutorials he watches online. He feels  _ dewy _ , already pretty. 

“What’s next?” 

This time Louis fully giggles and Harry counts it as a win. He grins to himself while Louis begins to mix two different colored liquids together. 

“I’m mixing these foundations together to match your color,” he says without glancing up. 

“Don’t you need to test it on me?” 

“No, after a while you learn how to guess correctly,” he shrugs. 

True to his word, Louis slides the foundation over his cheek with one of his brushes and it’s a perfect match. It’s so smooth that Harry has trouble feeling the usual stickiness of it through the primer Louis put on him. 

“You’re really good at this,” Harry remarks, tilting his head to help him with the angle. 

“You think so?” Louis asks quietly. “We haven’t even done the eyes yet,” he laughs. 

“Every time I’ve had my makeup done before they never did any of those steps. They always just went straight to this part and it always felt tacky on my skin.” 

“Really? Just straight to foundation?” 

“Mhm,” Harry hums. 

“Amateurs,” Louis scoffs with a small smile. 

Huffing a laugh of his own, Harry relaxes some more in the chair. He’s so in tune with other people’s emotions that sometimes he forgets his own. He’d been feeling anxious earlier when he arrived, more so than he’d wanted to admit, but he’s beginning to feel more at ease. 

After his foundation is blended, Louis adds some concealer underneath his eyes and buffs it out with a blender over his chin as well. 

“Look up for me,” Louis whispers, breath fanning over his face. 

Harry’s eyelashes flutter as his eyes look upward, straining so that Louis can get all the way up to the bottom of his eyes. 

“So you’ve never contoured before?” He asks, switching hands to pick up a different palette. 

“Maybe once, I don’t really remember,” Harry lies. 

He  _ has _ contoured before. And then promptly cried all of it off. It’d looked awful, the wrong color and the wrong technique and the wrong position. Instead of feeling pretty Harry felt like he’d just fallen face-first into some dirt. He hadn’t gone near any makeup again for weeks afterward. 

But he tries to put on a brave face for Louis’ benefit, watching him dip a thicker brush into several different dark powders. It’s fluffier than the others when Louis touches it to his skin, gliding lightly along the blunt line of his cheekbone and his jaw. He works it up around his hairline, barely touching it on the sides of his nose too. 

“Wow,” Harry breathes, immediately coloring at his own reaction. 

Louis just laughs happily again, doing the other cheek. He does Harry’s eyebrows quickly with an ease Harry wishes he could achieve on his own, brushing them out and applying some color. 

“Do you know what colors you’re wearing?” Louis asks, grabbing for his eyeshadow palette and flipping it open. 

Harry’s eyes catch on all of the colors, brighter and more vibrant than the one he has under the sink at home. His hand itches to run the pad of his finger through each of them, to see if they come off just as nicely as he thinks they might. 

“Just black and white, mostly. Maybe some red as well.” 

Nodding, Louis looks over their choices with a hip popped. Harry wonders what’s going through his head, how he chooses which colors would look best. 

“You’ve never done eyeshadow either?” 

“Sometimes I do that,” Harry says hesitantly, “when I’m at home. But it never comes out right.” 

Louis’ hand freezes in front of his face and Harry panics underneath the surface. He hadn’t thought Louis would be put off by him wearing makeup since - since Louis is  _ literally _ doing his makeup. 

But instead of teasing him Louis nudges his hand until Harry takes the brush from him. He glances up at him questioningly, eyes darting between the two. 

“C’mon, I’ll teach you,” Louis says, looking at him in the mirror over his shoulder. 

“Oh, no, I don’t think I could - it would look awful,” Harry laughs, insecure. 

“No, it won’t.” 

Holding the eye contact for a few moments longer, Harry finally sighs, fingers readjusting around the tool. At least Louis is confident in him, he figures, because Harry has very low expectations for the end result. 

“Alright, what do I do?” 

“What do you do at home?” 

“Well, usually I just-” Harry ghosts the tip of the brush over his lid in example. 

His hand moves awkwardly in small circles that don’t actually touch his skin, aware of the eyes on him. It’s embarrassing, is the thing, but Harry feels a surge of anger run through him. No one’s ever taught him how to do makeup because no one thinks to teach a  _ boy _ those things. It reminds him why he’s doing this shoot in the first place. 

“Pick a color,” Louis suggests softly, as if he can tell this is a big step for Harry. “Whichever one you want.” 

Every color he can think of is in front of him, a rainbow assorted over the little circles of pigment. Harry could choose any of them but one of them stands out in his brain. 

It’s a brownish-gold, by far one of the simplest colors Louis’ got. There are tiny specks of shimmer in it, twinkling prettily under the vanity lights. Slowly, he picks up the brush and moves toward it, glancing up at Louis. 

“Go ahead,” he encourages, echoing inside of Harry’s ears. 

Vividly, he can remember the last time he’d done this just days ago. His hand shakes just as much as it had then.  _ It’s just makeup _ , he reminds himself. It does little to help. 

“Don’t overthink it, Harry,” Louis murmurs behind him, closer now, “makeup shouldn’t have any other goal than to make you feel good. If you don’t like something, we wipe it off and start again. Don’t sweat it.” 

Harry swipes the bristles through the shadow and tries to forget about everything else. Inhaling sharply, he accepts the handheld mirror from Louis’ hands and shuts one eye. 

The first time it touches his eyelid Harry twitches. A gentle hand comes to rest on his shoulder, reminding him it’s alright. And it should be, Harry shouldn’t  _ need _ so much reassurance for this one thing. Just - somewhere along the way makeup had become less of something fun he experimented with in his freetime and more of something else he had to do perfectly or else it wasn’t  _ right _ . 

Louis said there isn’t any one goal, though. He can’t fight with the professional. 

He hasn’t moved the brush yet, staring through one eye at his reflection unsurely. Louis grips his wrist in a loose tug, blanketing his fingers over Harry’s. 

“Like this,” he explains. 

Louis adjusts his hand, moving it in tight circles to spread the color around with light pressure. Soon Harry begins to get the hang of it, Louis’ own wrist falling away as he continues the motion. 

“Is there - should I be putting it in a certain place?” 

“Wherever you want it to go. Everybody likes it a bit different,” Louis says. “You may need to get some more on the brush if you run out.” 

His eye is coated with the color when he pulls the brush back to return to the palette, blinking several times. It’s much darker than he thought it was but he finds it unexpectedly attractive. 

“I think,” Harry swallows, “I think I like it.” 

Louis doesn’t answer save for the bright smile he gives behind Harry’s head. 

Feeling more confident now, Harry repeats the same steps on the other eye, blending the gold powder out until it looks smokey. 

“Should I do some underneath? Do you think that would look good?” 

“I think that would look really good,” Louis nods, grabbing his brush to switch it for another, thinner one, presumably made for his under eye. 

He backs away again right after, close enough to encourage him if he needs it but not intruding on the moment. Using the same shade, he makes a funny face to get it as close to his bottom lashes as he can. Louis still doesn’t laugh, not even when Harry’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth in careful concentration. 

He’s patient while Harry puts it on even though he knows they’re running out of time to get to the shoot. When Harry catches Louis’ eye in the mirror again he looks wistful in his own way, lips twitching while he looks on. 

“Okay, I think that’s good,” Harry decides. 

Setting the brush down, he doesn’t let himself look too closely in the mirror. If he does, he’s likely to find something he doesn’t like again, to ruin all of their -  _ Louis’ _ \- hard work. 

“Would you like to put on the mascara?” 

“No, you should do it,” Harry pushes the wand back toward him when Louis offers it. 

“You sure?” He checks. 

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.” 

That part Harry already knows he can do, anyway. The eyeshadow had been cathartic but he doesn’t feel much like messing it up with black splotches everywhere from his shaky hands. 

Louis hooks two fingers underneath his chin to tilt his head back. His grip is soft but firm as he leans in close, balancing the wand and painting it thinly over Harry’s long lashes. The entire process only lasts for a few seconds. 

“That’s it?” 

Louis chuckles, “I’m not sure if anyone’s ever told you but you have ridiculously long eyelashes. You don’t need very much of this,” he screws the top back onto the tube and sets it with the rest of the makeup from before. 

It isn’t like Harry didn’t already know that before, but the compliment still makes him blush under the attention. Harry  _ loves _ compliments. Especially when they come from someone that looks like Louis does. 

“Thank you,” he mutters shyly. “What’s left?” 

“Just your lips and some highlight,” Louis tells him, reaching to the side for the lipsticks. 

Harry runs his tongue over his bottom lip and thinks about what color is about to be on them. The only kind he has at home is a hot pink one and a red one, both of which were too dramatic for his own tastes. He hopes Louis will pick something slightly less abrasive. 

“This one okay?” He holds up a muted pink color with a brown accent, reminding him of the eyeshadow he chose. 

“Perfect,” Harry agrees quickly, nodding. 

Louis is the closest he’s been yet, positioned directly in front of Harry’s mouth. His legs are to the side of Harry’s crossed ones in the chair and, if he wanted to, he could tug on Louis’ hips and he would be sat in Harry’s lap. 

Instead of doing that he focuses on the hand cupping his jaw, the thumb tracing his bottom lip. Louis’ face is perfectly concentrated as he traces a pink line around Harry’s lips to prepare for the lipstick. 

It glides on wetly when Louis switches the liner for the matte liquid. He’s biting his own lip when Harry’s eyes fall to it, blinking slowly as his eyes flicker to where his thumb still holds Harry’s lip. 

“Go like this,” Louis whispers, rolling his lips together. 

Harry copies the movement in slow motion. Afterwards he lets his mouth fall open the slightest bit, caught up in the heady moment. 

“Guys? We’re ready for you,” the assistant pokes her head in with a quiet knock. 

Jerking backward, Louis gasps and drops the tube of lipstick, bending down hurriedly to pick it back up and set it on the desk. He stares blankly at the floor for a minute until Harry clears his throat. 

“Highlight?” 

“Yeah,” Louis’ head snaps up, muttering to himself, “yeah. Highlight.” 

Their last step is short but it adds a lot to the face, brightening up everywhere it got a bit too dark in the process. Harry hopes the red in his cheeks will pass for blush without any questions. 

Louis steps back after he’s doused him with some setting spray, leaving Harry to look at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t though, doesn’t want to see anything that might make him want to take it all off and send him spiraling into a big pile of self-loathing. That surely wouldn’t make as good of a statement for the publication. 

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, already stepping up to head to the other room. 

“Wait, Harry, don’t you want to look first?” 

Pausing, Harry considers his options. He’d been ready to ignore him and keep walking, but the tone is Louis’ voice sounds sad almost, like he thinks he didn’t do a good job.  _ That’s _ what makes Harry sigh, turn around, and sit down in the chair again. 

This is always the worst part. Harry has fun in the process, puts on some music and sits on the floor in front of his mirror while he tries different colors and techniques. It’s at the very end, when he looks at the entire face that he doesn’t like it anymore. So he doesn’t, usually. 

“Harry,” Louis says deeply, “ _ look _ .” 

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, braces himself, and then peels them back open before he can convince himself not to. 

His final look is something he never would have imagined for himself, but he  _ loves _ it. His eyelids are coated with a sheen of dark gold, only the smallest amount of mascara on his lashes so it doesn’t distract from anything else. Gaze running over his reflection, Harry notes the subtle shape to his eyebrows and the sharper line of his lips. 

With his facial hair underlining the perfectly blended contour, it looks like the perfect balance of masculine and feminine. It looks like exactly what Harry was going for without even knowing he’d wanted it. 

“This is brilliant, Louis,” he says, leaning forward further to get a better look. 

One of his hands hovers awkwardly next to his cheek, wanting to touch but unwilling to risk ruining any part of it. His vision goes foggy with unanticipated tears the longer he takes it in. 

“Thank you, Louis, truly.” 

He colors at the praise, glancing up at Harry when he stands again. 

“S’no problem,” he smiles, “I’m glad you like it.” 

“Guys?” The assistant yells again. 

“I better -” Harry points to the door, still at a loss for words. 

“Go, go,” Louis urges him, “You look great.” 

The photographer tells him he wants him to look serious but Harry can’t wipe the grin off of his face. 

+

Louis stays for the entire shoot. Harry checks periodically throughout to make sure, finding him standing somewhere behind the set. Oddly enough, instead of feeling uncomfortable under the extra eyes, Harry thrives. 

He feels extra confident knowing how good he looks, what he and Louis did together. The lights are hot on his skin but, thanks to the setting spray Louis used, his makeup hasn’t budged at all. His hair stylist has had to step in several times already to fix his curls but Louis remains relaxed, looking pleased where he leans against the far wall. 

Most of his poses Harry comes up with himself, riding high off of the rare blanket of self-confidence. Flashes from the camera continue to go off rapidly as he throws up his arms in different ways, crosses his legs the way he likes. 

It feels like only minutes have passed when they’ve finished, and Harry heads off to change back into his regular clothes. Before he leaves, he’s set on finding Louis to thank him again. 

Except, when he makes his way back to the vanities, Louis isn’t there. He isn’t in the lounge, either, and the assistant doesn’t know where he’s gone when Harry asks her. 

Harry frowns, his chest sinking when he considers that he may have already left. Maybe it was just the liberating feeling of wearing the makeup and the clothes, but Harry sort of thought there might’ve been something there. 

“Harry,” he calls, coming through the far doors again. 

“Hey, I thought you left,” he chuckles. 

“No, I had to load my stuff back into the car,” Louis pauses, staring again, “Uhm, I made this for you. It’s a list of all of the products I used in case you wanted to get them yourself.” 

“Oh, thank you,” Harry breathes. 

“And, you know, if you ever want any other lessons or anything, my information is on the back of it.” 

Color spreads across Louis’ high cheekbones and Harry drinks it in. He steps forward, throwing an arm around Louis’ smaller shoulders and leading them to the door. Both of them had started the morning out poorly, Louis with his schedule and Harry’s nervousness about the shoot. He’s really glad it turned around. 

Harry can tell when they push through the back doors to the parking lot that Louis is eyeing him from the side, probably noticing that he’s still wearing most of the makeup. 

“S’a good day, yeah?” He squeezes Louis’ shoulders. 

“Yeah,” Louis grins, “it’s a good day.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! you can reblog this fic [here](https://soldouthaz.tumblr.com/post/613171408169844736/makeup-drawer-4k-harrys-excited-and-nervous) :)


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